


What Lies Beneath: A drabble series

by Baebadook (CommanderBaewin)



Category: Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Also yay for drabble stories, Carl GrimesxPatrick, Especially Daryl, M/M, Other parings might be mentioned Idk, Pretty much everyone ships Carl and Patrick, Rated T because ya'know, Ship captain Daryl fo' sho', The whole apocalypse thing they got going on, Zombies and shit
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-10-23
Updated: 2015-02-25
Packaged: 2017-12-30 06:25:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 13,968
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1015256
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CommanderBaewin/pseuds/Baebadook
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"It was sort of a playful joke around the Prison. About how if Carl was seen, Patrick wouldn't be too far behind. They had become a package deal."</p><p>Several drabble stories regarding the relationship between Carl and Patrick. (In other words I mourn Patrick's loss by making cutesy fanfiction.)</p><p>(Previously known as Teach me How: A drabble series)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Brave

**Author's Note:**

> I don't own the Walking Dead
> 
> Hey there, thanks for clicking on the story!
> 
> I needed to write something cute ASAP after the last episode. CARL WAS MAKING PATRICK A GRAVE MARKER. Pardon my caps, I just couldn't handle these feelings! That episode was so sad omg. Anyways, getting off subject.
> 
> Most chapters probably won't be tied in with others unless I say otherwise.
> 
> Enjoy!

Carl slammed the fence gate behind himself, panting as he looked around the small backyard they had wound up in. His companion bent down, putting his hands on his knees as he breathed heavily, also winded.

Carl leaned back against the fence gate, the bloody sharpened crowbar that served as his weapon fell to the cement sidewalk with a clatter.

“Well.” Patrick began, after catching his breath enough to speak. “That went well.” Carl snorted in lieu of a reply and watched as his boyfriend walked across the small yard and leaned against a tree, the only piece of foliage in the small space that seemed to be surviving the fight against upcoming winter.

Carl had begged and begged his father to let Patrick and him go on a supply run with the rest of the group. Getting Sasha to allow it had been slightly easier, but his father was another story. But finally he had relented.

So they had set off for an empty town Daryl had found another time, accompanying Daryl himself, along with Glenn, Tyresse, Sasha, and a few other men. The number of Walkers had seemingly increased since the last time Daryl had stumbled upon the place, and they had somehow been split up from the rest of the group during the fight.

There was no need to panic, though. Before coming they had agreed on a Rendezvous spot; a location where they would meet up in the event of something like that happening.

Carl pushed himself off the fence, instead crossing the yard to stand at the tree Patrick had slid down, and was now resting on the grass at the trunk. He was staring at his hands, lightly splattered with blood from the scuffle, and Carl realized with a slight jolt, that this had been his first time on the field killing a Walker.

Three Walkers had charged after them, and Carl had stabbed the first head on with his crowbar, whacking the second and once he had it pinned to the ground with his foot he ran it through the head.

The third had stumbled forward, advancing on the older teen, and Carl wrenched the crowbar out of the Walker’s oozing skull and swiveled around, prepared to stop it at all costs when the Walker suddenly screeched to a halt, the blade of a machete plunged through its decaying cranium.

With a gurgle of finality the Walker had crashed to the ground, unmoving, revealing a shell-shocked Patrick, who stared down at it owlishly.

Being on the field was so very much different than fence duty. On fence duty, the chain-linked wall that incased the Prison ensured their safety. There wasn’t much a Walker could do except snarl and bang on it.

On the outside, Walkers could be unpredictable, they could charge, bite, and scratch. Outside it was act, or get torn to pieces.

Carl had been so giddy to be able to explore with Patrick that he had forgotten for a moment, that in doing so he was putting the one he loved in severe danger.

He plopped down next to Patrick and slowly took the blade handle from his grasp, replacing it with his own hand as he set the weapon beside them in the grass. He could feel the tremor in his partner’s hand but didn’t comment on it.

“This was a bad idea, I’m sorry.” He mumbled. Patrick tilted his head so it rested on Carl’s shoulder.

“No, I wanted to come, really. It’ll just take some getting used to.” He said, giving his hand a small squeeze.

“I just wish I could be as brave as you, Carl.” Patrick admitted with a sigh, after a brief pause. Carl turned his head to look at him incredulously.

“Are you kidding? You were brave! The way you took down that Walker was awesome, seriously.” He nudged Patrick with his shoulder, smiling. Patrick smiled faintly in return, slipping his glasses off his face so he could clean away a few specks of blood that was sticking to the lenses.

A small noise made them both stop what they were doing and Carl, ever vigilant, grabbed his weapon and climbed to his feet slowly. For a while nothing else happened, and Carl started to think that maybe he had imagined the noise when it sounded again, closer and more clearer.

“ _Carl! Patrick!”_

“Glenn.” Patrick said, once he recognized the whisper.

 _“Glenn. We’re here.”_ Carl whispered back, and a few minutes later Glenn appeared at the backyard gate, looking relieved.

“There you guys are! Are you okay?” Carl nodded and helped his boyfriend to his feet, grabbing his weapon as well. They followed him around to the front of the house, where the rest of the group was standing, alert and ready to go if needed.

“What happened to the rendezvous spot?” Carl asked after he came to a stop. Daryl smirked.

“We were all there but Glenn got worried after you two didn’t show up after a while.” He turned to address Glenn.

“See? I told you they was alright, probably jus’ snuck off to make out or somethin’.”

Tyreese chuckled and Sasha smacked his arm, barely concealing a grin of her own. Carl sent Daryl a fake menacing glare and Patrick looked away with a smile.

“Alright, so maybe I over reacted a bit, can we go now?” Glenn admitted, crossing his arms. Daryl simply chuckled.

“Yeah, we should get this done before night fall.”

They resumed walking, weapons at the ready and ever so cautions. Patrick’s empty hand found Carl’s again as they walked. Carl squeezed his hand lightly in return, lulled into a sense of security with the warmth of his palm. Carl was happy to feel Patrick’s grip. Steady and strong unlike before.

It was still a work in progress, getting Patrick used to how they all worked, but he still felt as if they had made an advancement that day.

 


	2. Cuddling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Patrick and Carl are too sleepy to fuction

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't own the Walking Dead
> 
> I would like to thank everyone who is supporting this fic, thank you very much! I would've gotten this chapter out sooner, but life is being really rude and getting in the way.
> 
> Also I wrote this chapter while sleep deprived. I nap jerked awake a few times in front of the keyboard. So sorry if there's any mistakes, I'm too tired to proof-read.
> 
> Enjoy!

Carl shuffled down the halls of Cell Block C, grimacing at the pain that shot up his arms as he opened his cell door and pushed the curtain aside.

He had just finished water duty, which consisted of manually pumping water from their water source and into several buckets, which he proceeded to carry back up to the kitchen in several trips. Needless to say his arms hurt like a bitch.

His dad, whom he shared the cell with, wasn’t there and Carl figured he was still out and about. He paused when he saw a familiar pair of glasses resting on the table in the corner, and the lump under his bed covers.

With a grin he gently sat down on the edge of the bed and kicked off his shoes, yawning. Once done he slid under the covers and pressed into the presence’s warmth and sighed contently. Patrick stirred and scooted close to him as well, slipping his arm around Carl’s waist.

There wasn’t much room for two on the single bunk bed, forcing them together, but they didn’t mind of course.

“You do have a bed of your own you know.” Carl mumbled after a pause, and he let his eyes fall close. Not that he was objecting. He loved being able to cuddle with his boyfriend, as cheesy as it sounded. And Patrick’s room was all the way in Cell Block D. Carl’s was much more convenient to sleep in; closer to the front of the prison.

“Your s’ more comfortable.” Patrick slurred back.

“Why is that?” Carl asked, cracking open an eye once more. Patrick blinked blearily and smiled himself.

“Cause it has you in it.” Carl snorted at that.

“That sounded like a bad pick-up line.”

With a laugh Patrick inclined his head forward, to the point where their foreheads were touching.

“If it was, did it work?” Carl chuckled softly and shook his head with a smile.

“Just go back to sleep.”

“So it _did_ work.” Patrick murmured, flashing him a dopey triumphant grin.

“Now you’re just being stupid, because you already have me.” Carl closed the distance between them by giving his boyfriend a light peck on the lips. He turned so that he was facing the opposite way and stretched, feeling the tension in his arms lesson.

Patrick slung his arm back around him and scooted closer until they were slotted together, almost like two puzzle pieces.

“I do, don’t I?” Patrick whispered, once they were settled. Carl hummed slightly in agreement. Patrick moved the hand that was coiled around Carl’s hip until he found Carl’s, and he threaded them together with a sigh of happiness.

“I love you.” It wasn’t the first time they had exchanged those words, but Carl still grinned widely every time, his eyes practically sparkling.

Some might say they were too young to know the meaning of love, but they begged to differ. In times like that love was something precious that shouldn’t be tossed around easily. Carl squeezed his hand.

“I love you too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And thus another chapter is ended with a lack-luster ending, I'm so sorry. I'm horrible at endings, I'm trying to work on it.
> 
> Also, sleepy Carl and Patrick is like, the best thing in the world.


	3. Patrick the Hat Stealer

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't own the Walking Dead
> 
> I would like to thank you guys for the reviews, as they mean the world to me. I haven't gotten around to replying to them yet because I'm an asshole, but just know that I squeal and roll around the bed for a solid 30 minutes when I receive one :)
> 
> I know this drabble is kinda short but I just thought of the prompt: Patrick and Carl kissing and Patrick stealing his hat and wearing it' And I just had to write it.
> 
> Enjoy!

Patrick hummed a little tune as he chopped up a few tomatoes, Carol working with the main part of dinner behind him. The outside dining area buzzed with light chatter, several people seated at the tables to chat with their friends, or get out of the suns path and into the shade. A few smaller kids ran by every now and again, laughing with glee from their game of tag.

He paused his cutting when he saw Lea, a nice ten year old girl pause to stare at fruit he was chopping, licking her lips. Making sure Carol's back was turned he grinned and held out a sliver he hadn't diced yet, giving her a small wink. She brightened and smiled gratefully before taking the sliver and scampering off with it.

He chuckled and shook his head before continuing his job. Once finished he wiped his hands off on a dish towel and handed Carol the plate.

"Thanks Patrick." She took the plate and started to place it next to the cooker, pausing when something caught her eye. She smirked and nudged him with her shoulder a bit, nodding her head towards something. He followed her line of sight just as several voices rang out in greeting.

"Hey, Carl."

"Hi Carl!"

Carl had just rounded the corner, and he nodded his head in lieu of a reply. He had his signature sheriff hat on, and a hand on his gun holster.

After Rick had let them go on a few supply runs with the others he had thankfully become slightly more lenient, allowing Carl carry his gun again and letting him help around more, like letting him patrol around Cell Block A and B.

Carl caught his eye and smiled as he passed.

"You can go, but I'll probably need you again in a bit." Carol said, her amused voice snapping him from his thoughts.

"Thanks." He broke out into another grin and maneuvered around the tables and chairs, jogging to catch up with his boyfriend. He did so just as Carl turned another corner.

"Looking good, Sheriff." He teased. Carl spun around to face him, rolling his eyes playfully.

"You're just jealous. You just  _wish_  you had a hat as cool as mine." Carl shot back in a matter-of-fact tone.

"You've caught me." Patrick stated, just as playful. Carl laughed lightly.

"How is the patrolling going?" Patrick asked, and he shrugged.

"Nothing's happened, it's kind of boring. But in a way I'm happy nothing has." Patrick nodded in understanding. Carl thumbed behind himself.

"I should probably get back to it."

"Yeah, I should get back to Carol." Patrick paused for a second, an idea formulating in his head and he barely concealed a smirk as they leaned in to share a kiss. Mid-kiss Patrick moved his hand to Carl's head, plucking the hat from him and placing it on his own. He pulled back with a grin.

"You were right; and now I  _do_ have a hat as cool as yours." He cackled, giddy at the look of bewilderment Carl was sporting before he rounded the corner.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ugh, I'm no good at dialogue. Someone shoot me please.
> 
> Carol ships it. Everyone probably ships it. I bet people at The Prison gossip all the time and they used to gossip about Carl and Patrick before they got together. Yeah, totally my headcanon now.


	4. Anthem of the Angels

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do not own The Walking Dead or the song Anthem of the Angels by Breaking Benjamin. I simply used the song to add to the feels.
> 
> I recommend listening to said song while reading this chapter, but that's just me :) (All you have to do is copy and paste the above song and singer into YouTube, top vid should suffice)
> 
> You're all gonna hate me :)
> 
> Enjoy!

It had been nearly a week.

Carl sucked in a breath, doubling over to cough repeatedly into a handkerchief.

Nearly a week since Patrick died because of some virus, taking out several others with him. Nearly a week since he was ripped from the world abruptly, never to be seen or heard again.

_His death hadn't really hit Carl yet, not until he had stood over the fresh mound of dirt that served as Patrick's grave. He had placed Patrick's glasses on the wooden cross he had made him. Then it had hit him, like a ton of bricks._

_Patrick was gone. Never again would Carl be able to hold him, kiss him, or confide in him. Patrick had brought a certain lightness and happiness to the Prison, with his polite and happy-go-lucky attitude. Now the light was gone. Carl could never again shuffle to his cell and brighten slightly at the sight of him curled under the covers._

_Patrick was_ gone _._

_In an instant Carl had crumbled, falling to his knees. He shook, and he didn't even realize he was crying until he saw the tears slide down his face and onto the dirt below. And once he started he couldn't stop. He buried his face into his hands and cried, and cried, and cried. Until his throat was raw from his screams._

**_"I keep holding onto you_ **   
**_but I can't bring you back to life_ **   
**_sing the anthem of the angels_ **   
**_and say the last goodbye."_ **

He laid back down on his bed in an effort to alleviate his labored breaths to no avail.

It had been two days since Carl started coughing, and was moved from the quarantine zone to the sick ward.

And it had been nearly a day since Daryl and some others went out to retrieve medicine for them all.

Carl's cell was tucked in the back of the first floor. Most of the time he preferred to be alone, left to his thoughts but sometimes he talked to the others, like Sasha, Lizzie and Glenn.

How he had contracted the sickness, he didn't know. Had it been simply from being with Patrick? Because of their shared moments? Touches? Kisses?

And how had Patrick gotten it? Because of their livestock? He didn't have the slightest clue.

He let out a shaky sigh, and instantly cursed himself for doing so, as it started another coughing fit.

It wasn't fair.

Patrick hadn't shown a single symptom of anything that morning, not when Carl had slipped out of bed and kissed his forehead before he headed out after his father. And suddenly he was gone, later that night.

Carl tried to swallow down the lump that had formed in his throat but couldn't, his mouth dry like sandpaper. He reached over for the tea Hershel had been passing out and sipped.

Part of him wished Patrick was still in here with him.

But this was something he wouldn't wish on his worst enemy. He was glad, in a way, that Patrick seemed to slip away quickly, and wasn't suffering like the rest of them.

Part of him wished it was him who was with Patrick.

_**"Days go on forever** _   
_**but I have not left your side** _   
_**we can chase the dark together** _   
_**if you go, then so will I."** _

"Hey Carl." He looked towards the bars of his cell, surprised to see his dad standing there, a bandana tied around his mouth as a precaution. He must have had fought tooth and nail to get in to see him, as Hershel was adamant on keeping healthy people as far away from them as possible. Other than himself.

"Dad." He choked out, clearing his throat. He sat up slowly as to not get dizzy and slumped against the wall.

"You shouldn't be in here."

His father looked pained, and he grasped at the bars as if he wanted nothing more than to tear them from their hinges just to get to him. He probably did.

Carl could only imagine what his own appearance looked like. Dirty, his hair and clothes sticking to his skin due to the constant sweating.

"I don't care."

"You should, for Judith." Rick sighed and looked down, distressed.

"How is she?"

"She's fine; Beth's been takin' good care of her." Carl nodded, relieved.

"Any word on Daryl and the others?" Carl asked, reaching for his tea once more. Rick seemed to frown for a minute, but wiped the look from his face quickly.

"They should be here in a few hours, tops." He assured him.

Though Carl had little hope, as several bad things could always happen. Always did happen. Their car could've broken down, Walkers could've gotten them. There was also the possibility that they would get back but the medicine wouldn't work, thus it all being for nothing as the people would still die.

"Dad." He muttered suddenly, tilting his head to stare at him. He needed to tell him something, before it was too late.

"Yeah?" Rick leaned forwards more, eyebrows nit in concern and concentration.

"When I die-"

"Don't."

His father stopped him before he got the words out, shaking his head fiercely.

" _Don't_."

Carl had little hope left. He could see Hershel and Sasha and sometimes Glenn roll out people on gurneys. It was just to kill them without the rest of them panicking. It was only a matter of time before the others and he would be taken out in the same fashion.

_**"There is nothing left of you** _   
_**I can see it in your eyes** _   
_**sing the anthem of the angels** _   
_**and say the last goodbye."** _

He coughed into his hand, his throat burning and stinging in protest, and he wasn't nearly as alarmed as he should be at the sight of blood in his spit.

"Dad. Please let me finish." His dad let out a shaky sigh and nodded.

" _If_  I die-" He amended. Rick still looked grief stricken at the mere thought but he didn't protest that time.

"Bury me next to Patrick."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> GAH. All these feels! I'm so crap at writing emotional angsty scenes like this; I hope you didn't throw up because of its horrible-ness. Also it was probably really OOC. Sorry bout that.
> 
> Also you may have noticed I change the title, simply because I had just thought of the most random one when I first published this story and I kinda hated it. I think this one is better, in my opinion anyways.
> 
> Also, so sorry about any and all feels I triggered within you during this drabble, I will totally make it up to you next chapter, I promise!


	5. Winter Cuddles

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't own the Walking Dead.
> 
> It's that time of year guise! *Insert a plethora of smiley emojis* Deck the halls with bloody bodies, fa la la la la, la la lala. Etc Etc.
> 
> Also, that mid-season finale holy shit. Crap hit the fan, and it hit it hard. I think I'm still kind of in a numb, shock-induced coma. Kudos Walking Dead writers, kudos.
> 
> Sorry this was so late; other responsibilities just don't want me to have hobbies apparently. Anyways, like I said last chapter, I was sorry for making you guys feel the sad feelings. (Also sorry I laughed evilly as I read your distraught reviews, I mean what.)
> 
> So trying to make it up to you this chapter, yeah? Also I was in the mood for some wintery fic.
> 
> Also, it might be really obvious, but I still don't really know how to run this site.
> 
> Enjoy!

Carl shivered and wrapped his arms around himself in an attempt to stay warm.

Trying to find winter clothes for all of the people at the Prison had proven to be nearly impossible. Most of the outfits they had scrounged around for consisted of a coat, mismatching boots and gloves, a hat and sometimes a scarf. They decided that it was best if only a few people went out in shifts, giving their gear to the next person that would bear the cold. It wasn't a preferred method but it worked.

Carl shifted from foot to foot, sighing as he stared out at the expanse of the prison land and the surrounding forest from the cell tower window. Watch Duty was probably one of the most boring jobs in the prison, and all the while mighty uncomfortable during the winter time. Thankfully though he only had around thirty minutes more until rotation.

He sighed once more and leaned against the window, and dully watched a few Walker straggles bang and shake a section of the fence. There weren't enough to be worried about though.

He paused, arching a brow at the sound of the cell tower door opening and closing. Ben wasn't supposed to be here yet. He turned his head and looked to the ladder opening just in time to see a pink floral printed winter hat poke up from the hole. He snorted as it was followed by a head with thick-rimmed black glasses.

"Nice hat."

Patrick groaned and sent him a flat look.

"I will take these back with me." He warned, and it was only then did Carl notice the two thermoses cradled in the crook of his arm.

"I'll have you know it was the only hat they had left because Daryl and the guys went on a supply run-" Patrick grumbled, setting the canisters gingerly on the ground and hoisting himself up the rest of the way.

"What's that?" Carl interrupted, very used to Patrick's cute ramblings by now and knowing that if he didn't cut him off now he'd keep going. Patrick grinned and picked them up again, thrusting one into Carl's hand.

"Drink it." He stated simply. Carl eyed the mystery canister warily and he scoffed.

"Oh come on, it's  _fine_." Carl hesitated a second longer, and then brought the cup to his lips.

Patrick laughed when Carl's eye's widened slightly, undoubtedly tasting the sweet and chocolaty taste of hot cocoa.

" _Oh_."

"I know! Glenn managed to find a few boxes the other day." Patrick said. He downed a sip of his own and sat down on the mattress that was kept in the tower; for the over-night shifts during the summer. He patted the spot beside him and Carl gave the area one more fleeting look before he plopped down with him, nursing the warm beverage in his hands.

"Thank you." He said, and Patrick smiled in response, scooting closer to the younger teen.

They shared a brief moment of silence, only disturbed by the occasional distant groans of Walkers. Would they always have to hear that accursed sound? Patrick's smile faltered for a brief second.

"Do you think things will ever go back to the way they were?" He mumbled quietly. Carl sighed.

"I doubt it." He stated frankly. He looked over to his boyfriend and squeezed his hand.

"Do you?"

"I would like to think so, I hope so. But it probably won't." Patrick said, and frowned as he stared off somewhere. Carl watched him and frowned himself. What he wouldn't give for things to return to normal.

Carl finished the rest of his drink and stood up, holding out a hand.

"My shift should be over now. We should go back inside and warm up."

* * *

Patrick sat down on Carl's bed and toed off his boots, throwing them and the rest of the outer were to the corner. He crawled under the covers and scooted to the wall, allowing Carl to sit and do the same. They snuggled up to each other comfortably and Carl leaned forward to give Patrick a kiss. He slung an arm around Patrick's waist, chuckling slightly when he all but melted into the small kiss.

Patrick shifted and deepened the kiss, maneuvering around until he hovered atop the younger teen.

"Are you okay with this?" He asked after temporarily breaking the kiss. It wasn't like they hadn't laid on top of each other before, but Patrick always felt the need to ask, to make sure he wasn't going too far. The two of them were still very much virgins in ever since of the word, they had only gone as far as making out. Carl nodded, breathless, and grasped the back of Patrick's shirt.

Patrick leaned down to seal his lips onto his once more and pulled the comforter blanket down to the best of his ability, the room suddenly getting a tad hot. He panted and without really thinking about it he grasped Carl's thigh, lifting one of his legs and hooking it around his waist as he aligned their hips.

Carl inhaled sharply.

 _Oh._  That was a new move.

Patrick noticed the change and broke away to stare at him worriedly.

"I'm sorry, am I taking things too far?" He asked. Carl shook his head, breathing heavily.

"You're fine, I promise." Before the two could even do anything else a third voice sounded suddenly.

"I dunno, I think it's a bit far."

Rick.

Patrick yelped, scrambling away from Carl as if burned, cheeks absolutely aflame. They hadn't even done anything, and weren't planning on doing much more, but Patrick still felt the need to stay on Rick's good side as much as possible.

"Dad! When did you get here?" Carl stuttered, sitting up.

"Just now." Rick replied, his expression thoroughly scandalized, but not mad. And not in the homophobic way, he was very accepting of their relationship. In the "I just walked in on my son and his boyfriend making out in bed with my son's legs wrapped around his boyfriend's waist" kind of way. Surely an image he hadn't wished to be bestowed with.

"Patrick, you should probably head to your cell, we have lots of things to do tomorrow." Rick said, breaking the small awkward silence that had enveloped the room.

"Right." He squeaked in reply, pausing to kiss Carl goodnight before he scurried from the bed.

"Nice seeing you sir."

After exiting he heard Rick mention something about "The Talk", followed by Carl's aghast groaning, and he couldn't help but cackle as he made his way down the hall merrily.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I bet Patrick is just a big bumbling pile of nerves around Rick haha. (Also around Carl sometimes too)
> 
> Also sorry if there's any spelling errors and the like, and I hope this chapter isn't as rushed as I was when writing it. We have snow coming in and I wanted to get this chapter done and published in case the power were to go out.
> 
> I hope you guys are having a good December, stay warm, be careful on the roads!


	6. Snow Duties

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So! It's been a while, sorry about that. I don't have a large window of when I can write fanfiction and life has been getting in the way. But since the show has come back on it kind of brought me back into the writing mood for this fic, yay!

"It's cold." Carl stated with a frown. Patrick paused his shoveling to turn to look at him, and laughed breathlessly.

"Thank you for the weather report, Captain Obvious."

Nothing was worse than tending to the Prison during the cold winter. Extreme caution was always taken during the time to prevent hypothermia. They had to make sure the snow was not weighing down on the outer fence so the Walkers couldn't get through. People who had to go outside went in pairs to keep an eye on each other and lessen the workload.

Carl leaned against his own shovel and huffed.

"The quicker we get it done the sooner we can go back inside you know." Patrick reminded him, continuing his ministrations. The lot around the Prison had to be shoveled and salted so no one would slip and fall.

Patrick suddenly had the thought of a bunch of Walkers slipping and sliding around on the ice comically and he chuckled to himself.

"But it's cold." Carl whined again, adjusting his wool hat.

"Complaining about it won't do any good." Beth said from her shoveling spot a few feet away from them. From the redness of her face it was easy to tell she felt the same way though. Carl blew a puff mist at her in lieu of a response and she laughed with a shake her head.

"Just think," Patrick began, as he dug into a particular dense part of the snow. "After we finish here and get warmed up we can probably come back out and have a snowball fight. Maybe we could even get Michonne and the others to join us." He finished. He tossed the big clump of snow behind him, but didn't think of the weight of it. He fumbled a bit when he lost his footing and fell to the snowy ground, bewildered.

Carl and Beth erupted into snickers.

"Patrick, are you okay?" Carl asked, once the breath had returned to his lungs. He walked over to his fallen boyfriend and held out a hand. Patrick grinned, grabbed his wrist and yanked him down. Carl yelped and slammed into Patrick's chest, their legs tangled together. Patrick laughed as Carl raised himself up onto his elbows and glared at him.

"I'm perfectly okay now." He replied, and paid no attention to the snow as it soaked into his pants. Beth sighed and tossed a handful of snow at them with a grin.

"C'mon you two, get a room."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's a short chapter I know, but it's something yeah? Hopefully I can get back to writing longer chapters soon. (Also I still haven't grasped using this sight much oops.)


	7. Guided by a Beating Heart [1]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do not own the Walking Dead.
> 
> Heeey, so as usual my updating really sucks, so I apologize for that. Recently I got my Driver's Permit, and I've been trying to work on my studies more lately, so again, sorry.
> 
> As usual if you have any questions or concerns about my fics, or if you simply just want to pop in and say high, my Tumblr is Oppanblainegamstiles.tumblr.com
> 
> Sometimes I even write small fics that I don't really think merrit being a full story or being uploaded to the site so you could always check that out if you want. :D
> 
> Enjoy!

He was lost.

Patrick pushed himself forward, winding around trees and low hanging branches.

Through the dull haze of panic he was experiencing he managed to keep his voice down as he called out for Carl, Michonne, or Rick.

A few Walker stragglers had gotten the jump on them in the forest and they scattered, the undead seemingly dividing them, Patrick on one side, Michonne, Rick, and Carl on the other. Pushing them, further and further away from each other, until Patrick could no longer see them, and he had to turn around- to make sure he didn't trip and fall on a tree root, the Walker in heavy pursuit- which he was glad, the less following the others the better.

At one point he did fall, and heard an unpleasant crunching noise from his bag but at the time had paid it no mind, scrambling to get to his feet before he met his end.

He had just driven his small blade into the Walker's skull, watched it fall to the ground like the others, before he realized he didn't recognize that part of the woods. It had seemed like a perfectly rational decision to try and retrace his steps back to the temporary camp they had set up.

Only by picking the direction he  _thought_  he had come from had probably done nothing more than get him even further away from them.

Panic had a firm grip on his heart as he panted and wheezed, twisting around and trying to get some semblance of the area he was in. He shrugged his backpack off his shoulders and let it fall to the soil with a dull thump. It was no good, the trees were too dense; everything looked the same.

He was  _really_  lost.

He was alone.

His knees wobbled pathetically, unable to find sturdy purchase on the ground once more, and he sank to the ground, the bark of the tree he was leaning against poking and scratching at his back as he went.

It was too much. The tangy cooper taste in his mouth remained, after he had bitten his lip a bit from the fall. He felt beads of sweat roll down his face, stinging his eyes. The earthy smell and the damp feeling of the sweat and the mossy wet ground below his hands.

He let out a few more shaky breaths and closed his eyes, attempting to calm down. Panic only made things so much worse, and he knew so.

The  _compass_. He suddenly thought, as his eyes snapped back open.

They had worked out a rendezvous spot in case something like this happened. They needed one, after the disaster at the prison. He reached forward and tugged his backpack closer to him, unzipping it. He rooted around in it for a few minutes, the small beams of light casted between the canopy of leaves and branches serving little to no help to him, before his hand closed on it.

A sharp pain flared in his palm and he yanked his arm back, inspecting his hand. There was a small cut in the center, neither big nor deep enough to be worried about or anything though, so he reached back in and  _delicately_  this time, extracted his compass.

Which had apparently been smashed. That had explained the noise. The glass had completely been cracked, only a few small piece remaining in the frame, and the back was dented. The needle points seemed to be stuck between North and East. He shook it several times and attempted to move the needles himself, hoping it would somehow fix itself, to no avail.

He heaved a shaky sigh and tossed the broken gadget back into his bag as he let his head fall back against the tree with a thunk.

What was the rest of his group doing right now? Fighting still, or looking for him? Perhaps they were at the rendezvous spot, waiting for him to arrive. Sooner or later they would have to give up if they wanted to make it to Terminus before dark; with or without him there. Would they search for him for a while before giving up? Would Carl let them?

No. He was almost one positive that the three wouldn't leave him behind, and that was what worried him. Searching around in the woods at night with little to no resources that would help seemed like a very, very bad idea.

Lately Carl had grown eerily silent, which was unusual, because he could talk nearly as much as Patrick did once he got going. He was different, more distant. That was understandable, after the prison.

Losing Judith had hit Carl and Rick hard, it was obvious to tell. Hell, it had hit them all hard. He vaguely remembered near the beginning when he wasn't quite ready to deal with the Walkers, still shaken from the loss of his last group. Between helping Carol with kitchen duty he had sometimes helped with feeding and changing Judith. (There was a time at one point where she had seemed to almost imprint on him like a baby duckling and wouldn't stop crying until  _he_  was the one holding her, even if that meant having to wake him up in the middle of the night.)

Rick attempted to cover it up by being they're sort of group leader, pushing them forwards and doing his best to keep them safe. Carl on the other hand had seemed to be running on autopilot. He kept a look out when it was his turn, helped with the camp and yet, he had barely uttered a sentence. Michonne seemed to be keeping Rick from the brink of insanity and/or a breakdown, but when it came to Carl Patrick felt helpless.

All three of them had tried hard to get him back, to smile, or laugh or anything really to no avail. Carl had shutdown. It had apparently become his coping mechanism Patrick didn't know where they stood anymore. Any efforts of affection be it hand-holding or hugging Carl turned down. Patrick was at a loss for what to do. Part of him knew that Carl valued his space and he didn't want to smother him, while the other part wanted to pull him close and comfort him.

But comforting could only take you so far, and so Patrick kept to trying to help out the group any way possible

They had had they're safe haven ripped out from under them like a rug they're sanctuary for nearly two years, toppled like a house of cards. After just starting to recover from the illness too, it was like being kicked while they were down. So many questions were left up in the air. If he was to go back to the prison how many of the Walkers would he recognize? How many of them were left? Where were the others if they were alive?

None of them seemed to possess answers for any of the questions, so they had simply walked. And now they were nowhere to be seen. The son had started setting; soon he was going to be eclipsed by a blanket of darkness.

The panic that had been nestled in his heart expanded and threatened to take hold of him. A thin sheen of sweat had started to collect on his forehead, and he reached up and swiped it with the back of his arm. He ducked his head down then and closed his eyes, inhaling deeply through the nose, exhaling slowly through the mouth. He hadn't had a fully-fledged panic attack since the outbreak had started.

He kept breathing slow, trying his best to calm down. He had learned it was best to just let the attacks happen instead of fighting them, as they seemed to die down a lot quicker when he went through them.

Minutes ticked by, yet seemed closer to hours before he looked up again, finally through the panic. The sun had descended in the sky, not yet eclipsed by the horizon. Several different shades of orange filtered in through the leaves, and had It been any other circumstance he would have marveled at the beauty.

A bush rustled and shook nearby and he snapped to attention. He leaned forward and grabbed his bag, then his knife that he had must of dropped in the midst of his panic, then climbed to his feet and quietly as possible.

He didn't want to call out, in case it was a Walker, or perhaps a bandit. Who knows how many Walkers lurked in the forest, other than the three they had encountered earlier, or people who had set up camp here. He crept towards the bushes slowly; knife at the ready in front of him, when suddenly a figure emerged from the shrubbery and a katana was pressed lightly to his chest.

Michonne and Patrick both seemed to be equally surprised of each other's presence for a second before she withdrew her weapon, sighing with relief. Patrick felt a similar feeling rush through his entire being and he sagged, sheathing his knife.

" _Finally_ , thank God-" She paused and glanced over her shoulder.

"Guys, I found him! Or really, we found each other." She finished with a grin, reaching over to ruffle his hair playfully as Rick, and then Carl appeared from the trees, both pocketing their weapons.

"I'm glad you guys are okay." Patrick said with a smile. Rick smiled back lightly.

""And we're glad you're okay. We were getting' kinda worried there for a minute."

"I wasn't worried; I always knew Patrick was a tough kid." Michonne commented nonchalantly and sent him a wink. Patrick barely had time to even react before Carl was suddenly there; grabbing him and pulling him close for a hug. Patrick sighed and grasped at him just a tight, if not tighter. He was tired of close calls, like at the prison. Tired of nearly losing loved ones and actually losing others.

"I'm so happy you're okay." Patrick mumbled, burrowing his nose in the crook of Carl's neck.

"I should be the one saying that to you." Carl replied. He moved his arm down and connected their hands, giving it a firm squeeze.

"We should probably get going so we're not bumblin' around the forest in the dark." Rick suggested as he looked around. Michonne hummed in agreement and Carl finally released his iron hold on Patrick, instead letting their joined hands fall and swing slightly as Rick lead the way.

Carl had seemed a fraction better. Still, the Governor had ripped a hole right through their content lives, and it wasn't the easiest thing in the world to come back from, but at least there was some semblance of progress being made.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gah my endings are always so lackluster and sucky :/ Sorry I'm subjecting you to this nightmare. Also sorry for any mistakes I didn't really proofread this chapter I really wanted to get it out and published for you guys.


	8. Guided by a Beating Heart [2]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do not own The Walking Dead.
> 
> Hey! So it's been a while, sorry. I turned 18 just this 24th of June. It was awesome, and yet terrifying at the same time :D
> 
> Brief warning: This chapter contains death and a tiny tiny mention of some form of suicide. I am sorry.
> 
> I typed up this chapter the same day I'm putting the chapter up. I was actually efficient for once!
> 
> Enjoy!

Carl sat against the wall of the building they were currently held up in for the night. He let out a sigh and glanced around the dim living room, from his father, where he sat to the right nearest to the front door, to the left. Beside a small empty book case there was a door, which led to a bedroom.

The bedroom, which the previous house owners had taken each other's lives.

Finding bodies was never easy. Yet, it was something found often. Carl had seemed to become somewhat numb to it. There was nothing to be done about it, and he wasn't one to pity the dead, not anymore.

Losing the Prison, loosing Judith, nearly losing Patrick, those things made him even number. He held on to the people he had left, holding almost tight enough to suffocate them, worried that if he let them slip from his grasp for a second, they'd be gone.

There was a tiny part of him, which no matter how much he tried to deny it, thought maybe that was better. To just give up. Surely if his dad had heard him say such a thing he'd slap him silly. His mother, hell even Shane, was probably rolling in their graves at his mere thoughts of it.

Thankfully his dad, his best friend and the love of his life kept him grounded. As long as he had them he would fight tooth and nail to protect them.

_Patrick was the one to discover the deceased family, curled up together. A man and woman clutching two very, young girls to their chests. A discarded, bloody pistol lay at the foot of the bed. They had come running at the sound of Patrick's horrified gasps._

_Michonne had steeled herself first, slamming the door shut and placing a hand on Patrick's shoulder, asking him if he was alright. He had barely nodded before he bolted for the door, retching off the side of the porch._

_Carl instantly went to comfort him as if it were reflex. He had heard his dad mutter something to Michonne about covering them up with a sheet later._

_He patted Patrick's back while he panted and dry heaved over the railing, tears mixing with saliva and snot._

" _I-I'm sorry." Patrick had mumbled, but Carl simply shook his head and turned him to face him._

" _You don't need to apologize for feeling, Pat." He fished around in his bag for a minute until he found his water pouch and a rag. After dipping the rag in the water he held out the rag for Patrick to take._

_Patrick mumbled his thanks and took it with shaking hands, rubbing at his face. After missing a spot several times Carl finally took it back and gently grasped Patrick's chin, rubbing at the excess vomit. In any other circumstance Patrick would probably found it very romantic and cute. Instead he looked away, ashamed._

_After finally cleaning off the clinging barf he smiled faintly and grabbed Patrick's glasses from the railing, sticking them on Patrick's face with a light "bop". With that he pulled him into his arm Patrick sniffed lightly and grabbed at the back of Carl's shirt._

" _It sounds awful.., but you get used to it, after a while." Carl finally muttered. He felt Patrick's breath hitch slightly._

" _I don't want to get used to it. It's not fair." Carl nodded._

Sometimes he really worried about Patrick's sanity. How had he not snapped so far? He was always trying to be chipper for the rest of them. Precious and compassionate Patrick, who didn't deserve to be living through this Hell on Earth.

Had it been different, and had they had grown up together, living comfortable and safe, what would they have been worrying about? Colleges? Or jobs? What outfit to wear when they took each other out on dates?

Living in a world without Walkers seemed to be wishful thinking at that point, but he could always hope.

"What are you thinkin' about so strongly?" Rick finally asked, breaking the long stretching silence. Carl snapped out of his stupor and glanced around in search for his boyfriend.

Just him and his dad. He shrugged.

"Everything, I guess." His father hummed in response, glancing out the window.

"Do you think they got lost or attacked?" Carl asked anxiously. He stood and crossed the living room to peek out the window as well.

Patrick had volunteered to go outside and scour the other houses of the neighborhood with Michonne. Watching Patrick leave without him going as well had made him uneasy at the prison, but here it was ten times worse.

Obviously they could take care of themselves, Michonne wouldn't go down without a fight, and Patrick was much more efficient at killing Walkers than he looked, but there was always the possibility that something could go wrong, and they wouldn't even know.

"Maybe they just got so much stuff they have to take several trips?" Rick suggested, obviously trying to be optimistic. Carl sighed.

* * *

 

After about twenty minutes (but seemed like forever) of Carl cleaning their guns, organizing the last bit of their food, and pacing the room, there was a knock at the door. It was in a certain pattern; because Michonne thought it was better that way.

His dad snapped awake from his chair, where he had started to fall asleep and he jumped up, pulling open the door.

"Take him." Was the first thing out of Michonne's mouth and Carl stepped around his dad to see what all the commotion was about.

Michonne had just handed Rick Patrick.

An unconscious Patrick.

A  _bleeding_  Patrick.

Carl's heart fell from his chest to the floor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What's a story without some cliffhangers amirite. :D I hope you guys enjoyed the chapter, thanks for reading!


	9. Guided by a Beating Heart [3]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't own the Walking Dead.
> 
> Sooo, it's been awhile. Far, far too long. I am a jerk and I'm sorry for subjecting you to these horrible updating patterns.
> 
> At least Walking Dead will come on soon, so maybe I'll be able to pull some chapter ideas from it.
> 
> Also I noticed in the last chapter I mentioned my tumblr being oppanblainegamstiles, but I've changed it since then, so it is now districtsandwizards, just like it is here, and you can find a link to it on my profile if you have any questions or concerns about the fic.
> 
> Enjoy!

Rick shot out of his seat in an instant, taking the limp boy from her hands upon her command.

"What happened?!"

He laid him down on the sofa gently while Michonne disappeared outside again.

Carl continued to stand in the middle of the room, frozen. The world continued to turn around him, but he was unable to react, stuck staring at Patrick, his Patrick.

Suddenly he saw the faces. Familiar faces that blinked before his eyes.

Judith, Amy, Shane, Andrea, his mother, Dale, Hershel, T-Dog; A list that stretched on for miles. The list that tallied higher and higher wherever they went, as if Death itself was following them.

How many faces were missing after the Prison went down?

Was Patrick going to be another face? Another reminder that no matter how safe they thought they were was all but a façade, a naïve dream?

Michonne returned with one of the sacks they had left with and threw the door close with a slam. This jarred Carl from his stupor.

"Was he bit?" He asked, after swallowing the large lump that had formed in his throat. Fear coiled around his heart, which thumped hard in his chest as if fighting to break from the restraints.

There was a sizeable blood stain that had formed on Patrick's shirt. A dark color of red in the center of his stomach that became brighter as it spread out.

"No! He wasn't bit, or scratched." Michonne assured him. She walked over to an armchair that sat in the corner of the living room and dragged it to the door, barricading them in.

Or keeping something out.

Once Patrick looked to be in a comfortable position on the couch Rick searched the premises for an object that could hold water.

A wave of relief washed over Carl, calming him down. But they weren't out of the woods yet.

He tried to busy himself by assisting his father. He rolled up Patrick's shirt and winced slightly at the nasty looking cut.

Rick gently dabbed a damp rag to his inflamed skin and began cleaning the wound. Michonne had produced another torn piece of cloth and wiped away the sweat that had gathered on Patrick's face.

He didn't have any idea how coherent Patrick was at the moment, but he was alive and breathing. He grimaced in his state when Rick got to the center of the wound and Carl reached out and grabbed onto his hand for comfort, squeezing it lightly.

There was a short period of silence, only broken by Patrick's occasional groans of displeasure when Rick applied some antiseptic they had found in a first aid kit a few days ago. The wound, once clean, was not as bad as it had appeared first hand

"It doesn't look like its deep enough to need stitches, but you can never be too safe." Rick said.

With Carl's help he sat Patrick up and began to wrap a bit of gauze around his midsection.

"What happened out there?" Carl asked, looking to where Michonne was glancing out the window. The two laid him back down gently, the tension dying down considerably. He kept a firm grasp on Patrick's hand, watching him as he dozed.

His breathing was regulated; he could feel his pulse under his fingertips.

He was fine.

"I don't even really know what all happened, we were at the last house on this street looking for food." Michonne said.

* * *

_They had decided to split up, seeing as it was a two story house, Michonne taking the bottom floors and Patrick the upstairs._

" _Let me know if you find any stale M &M's." Michonne had called to him playfully as he ascended the stairs. Patrick laughed._

" _Roger that." He replied, saluting. They had gone about their business, commenting casually here or there if they found anything. Patrick had found an old Playstation upstairs and bemoaned its disrepair._

_Michonne had been in the back of the house, searching the cabinets in the kitchen by the back door when she heard a thud from upstairs. At first she had thought nothing of it; Patrick could have knocked something over or moved something out of the way._

_Then she heard the yell, followed by the gunshot._

_Patrick had only been given a knife._

_She let the bag fall to the floor with a crash and instantly reached for her sword, bolting to the living room and up the stairs._

_She rounded the corner and approached the last bedroom just in time to see Patrick plunge his knife into a man's chest._

_The man dropped his gun, which had been previously rested against Patrick's forehead, clutching at his arms, gasping for breath. Patrick watched, horrified as he let out a final pant and went limp, sliding to the floor._

_And just like that, what remained of Patrick's innocence was stripped away._

_The blade clattered against the hardwood flooring, falling into the pool of expanding blood._

" _Patrick, are you alright?" Michonne asked, stepping forward to reach out to him. She slid her sword back into its sheath._

_He turned to her silently, looking bewildered. His hands dangled at his sides, splattered with specks of blood._

_Iit was then Michonne had noticed the tear in his shirt, and his own blood seeping into it. Her eyes widened._

" _Patr-" He wobbled suddenly and she lurched forward and caught him as he passed out._

* * *

Carl's stomach turned. He couldn't shake the feeling that he should have went with them, that he should have done  _something_.

"Do you think he was one of the guys that looted the house we were staying in? While you n' I was looking for food?" He asked her, frowning.

"I don't know. But I don't think we should stay here much longer. A lot of Walkers came out of the woodwork after his gun went off."

" _Patrick?!" Michonne called to the unresponsive boy. With some difficulty she turned him around and keeping a firm grip on his shoulder she leaned down and hooked his legs. She heard a groan, followed by some scratching and carefully stepping around the body she glanced out the window._

_A few Walkers had gathered outside, drawn by the loud noise. She cursed._

_Carrying Patrick this way left them open and in danger, because she had to keep hold of him with both arms. But she couldn't carry him any other way because it could affect his injury. Her eyes fell to the lifeless body once more._

_If she escaped out the back door, the Walkers might be more interested in the free buffet upstairs._

_She spotted the bag Patrick must have dropped in the struggle, and the gun. She shifted him a bit in her arms enough that she could hold him with one arm temporarily and leaned down carefully, grabbing them._

_They were dangerously low on supplies, and they could always come back sometime later and get the other bag._

_She descended the stairs as quietly as possible and slipped into the kitchen. The chair they had propped under the front door as a safeguard seemed to be working for the time being. After a bit of fumbling with the door she successfully pulled it open and stepped into the fresh air._

_Thankfully the part of the neighborhood didn't have any fences, making her job ten times easier. The Walker's noises were much more prominent outside and she prayed they would stay occupied with the door, and that there weren't any more waiting for them as she snuck into the adjoined backyard._

_She picked up the pace once she felt she was a good distance away from the Walkers and headed back for their hideout._

* * *

Carl's eyes had remained on Patrick the whole time.

"Do you think he'll be alright?"

Rick smiled and ruffled his hair as he got off the ground.

"I'm sure of it; he's probably just tired is all." He looked out the window at the orange tinted sky.

"We can move out tomorrow, I think we should hunker down here for the night to be safe."

"I second that." Michonne said. She got up from her armchair and dug around in the bag. "Anyone hungry? I couldn't carry both but we can always go back-"

She paused, snorting in disbelief as she pulled a package of something out of the bottom.

A package of Peanut M&Ms.

After the three had had a snack they decided it was best to follow Patrick's example and get some shut eye. The sun had long since disappeared beyond the horizon.

Michonne blew out the candle they had lit in the center of the coffee table and got comfortable in her armchair. Since the house they were staying in was only one floor and the only bedroom still had the gruesome remains of its previous tenants they had to make do on the living room. They had given the chair that wasn't currently barricading the door to Michonne while Carl and Rick slept on the floor.

Rick had offered to take first watch, since Michonne was probably tired but she insisted.

Carl found comfort in Patrick's soft, even breaths from beside him. He peered through the darkness, staring up at the ceiling above him from his spot at the foot of the sofa. For some reason sleep wouldn't come to him. Of course he hadn't really gotten a good night's sleep since the Prison. Sometimes he feared sleep, not wanting to relive his friend's deaths, or watch the death of himself.

Suddenly he heard a gasp and the couch shifted and he sat up, searching for Patrick's hand. Patrick breathed heavily, and Carl, knowing he was prone to panic attacks, found his arm and followed it upwards, finally resting both hands on his neck.

"Patrick, it's okay." He assured him softly, leaning forward to touch their foreheads together.

"Carl?" Patrick choked out, his breath fanning Carl's face in sputters and puffs.

"I'm here. Breathe with me." Carl inhaled through the nose and exhaled out the mouth. Patrick followed his example, clutching at the back of Carl's shirt. They breathed together, in and out, until he had calmed down. Carl absentmindedly stroked his cheeks with his thumbs.

"I-I killed somebody." Patrick whispered, his grip on Carl's shirt tightening.

* * *

_He dug around in the closet of one of the bedrooms in the top floor, sighing when he found nothing of use. He had proudly found a package of M &Ms in one of the desk drawers, and slipped it into his bag. He wanted to surprise Michonne with them later._

_Having efficiently combed all of the rooms upstairs but one he walked into the hallway and pushed the door open._

_He had only taken three or four steps into the room before an arm curled around his neck, another curling around his stomach, his own blade pressed into his stomach. It was sharp enough to tear the front of his shirt and break the skin. He hadn't even felt them slip it out of his belt loop._

_The person, obviously male from his strength and the form against him, chuckled as he struggled. He could see a pistol in his peripherals, clutched in the hand of the man. So he had decided to be stealthy when he saw he had a knife, as to not alert Michonne of his presence downstairs._

_How long had he been in the house? Had he been in the house the whole time, waiting to ambush them?_

" _Don't say a word." A gruff voice warned, and the arm around his neck constricted painfully. He flailed his arms out slightly and his bag slid from his arm and to the floor._

_Did he want food? Was he part of the group from the other day? The edges of his vision blurred dangerously and as a last ditch effort he shoved his elbow backwards into the stranger's stomach. His assailant reeled in pain, but not before sliding the knife across Patrick's skin. He bit his lip as pain flared in his stomach and grabbed for the knife when he retracted his arm, successfully yanking it from his hand._

_His own hands shook as he drove the knife into the man's side, and it was then he wished as he backed up a few steps, that he still had the machete._

_The gun the man had been holding slipped from his grip and discharged once it hit the wooden floor hard. He heard the noise of pounding footfalls from downstairs: Michonne._

" _You son of a bitch." The man growled out, advancing towards him. He was a few feet taller than Patrick, and was no doubt muscular. His heart pounded in his chest, adrenaline and fear driving him. He somehow dodged the fist that was thrown at him and shot forwards, the knife sinking into the man's chest._

* * *

"I know." He replied softly. He pulled him into an embrace. "You didn't have a choice."

"But I-" Carl shushed him.

"It's okay. It's all going to be okay."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bah I don't know about this chapter, I hope it's good. I'm not really good at action sequences and I hope it was believable and all that. (Also line breaks up the yazoo this chapter, man.)
> 
> One thing to note: I am no doctor, so basically what I wrote was pretty much the extent on my knowledge of treating wounds oops.
> 
> Also this is a random type of thought but I like to think Tara and Patrick would get along. Like Tara mistakenly thinks Patrick is hitting on her and is like "sorry I don't like men." And Patrick just laughs and goes "Well I know I do." And then they're like "yooooooooo" and bond and stuff. I need to explore this in a future chapter.
> 
> Anyways, thanks for reading!


	10. Euphoria

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do not own The Walking Dead.
> 
> Finally! Do you here that? That's the sound of me collapsing from writing nearly all of this in one night. I had wanted to get it out on the 25th seeing as that was the one year anniversary for my fic, but I missed the deadline. This turned out to be longer than intended, which is cool.
> 
> Also I hate to keep doing this but last chapter I said if you had any questions or anything to go to my tumblr districtsandwizards.tumblr.com. But that tumblr has since been turned into a complete anime blog, soo yeah. My TV show and everything else blog is districtsandmazes.tumblr.com. Anyways.
> 
> Enjoy!

 

He had a problem. A big, distracting problem. That problem's name was Carl Grimes, and the distraction was his…everything, really.

Patrick grumbled incoherently to himself as he carried a jug of water to the kitchen area. Carol glanced at him from her peripherals and raised a brow but said nothing. The comfortable silence between them stretched on until they reached the outer kitchen area. Patrick sat his jug down with a small grunt and dusted his hands together, pleased with how much water they were stocking up on. Carol patted him on the shoulder lightly.

"Thanks for all your help, Patrick." He smiled and adjusted his glasses.

"The pleasure was all mine." He replied. While Carol busied herself with wiping down the counters for the day Patrick allowed his gaze to wander across the yard. The sun rising slowly from behind the thick trees surrounding the area was almost picturesque, except for the Walkers grumbling and pressing against the barbed wire fence. He looked to where they kept a small farm and smiled.

The prison's produce had flourished nicely since they had first made it, providing the community with an abundance of fresh fruit and vegetables. That and with the animals they had found the place was like heaven, or close to it. Rick and Carl worked in the brisk morning air, carefully inspecting each plant for any ripe food it bared.

He realized a bit late that he had been staring for too long when Carl looked up and around, catching his gaze. He waved a dirty garden glove at him and Patrick gave a small wave back, turning away.

"You okay Pat? You seem kind of distant lately." Carol asked after a while, cracking some eggs into a mixing bowl. Patrick grimaced at her observant nature, not appreciating it for one.

He always had thought of her as like a mother to him, even though she didn't like to be called mom or anything of the sort. Perhaps it was his lack of his own mother that had him wanting to bond with her. A sort of yearning for a parental figure in this mess of a world.

"I'm fine." He stated, though he didn't sound convincing even to himself. She looked skeptical but didn't press the matter, which he was grateful for.

"Could you maybe get some vegetables from the farm for breakfast?"

Perhaps she knew his plight after all and was trying to get him to confront the problem, or she was simply innocent. But he knew better and kind of suspected the former.

"Sure." With a bit of reluctance he traipsed off towards the lion's den and tried to calm his nerves.

As he neared he heard the sounds of laughter and idle chit-chat which helped ease him a bit.

"Hey Pat." Carl greeted him upon his arrival, pausing to wipe some sweat of his brow only to smudge dirt on his forehead. Rick waved in lieu of a hello and continued his work.

"Hi." Patrick placed his hands on the fence. "I need some stuff for breakfast? Chef's orders."

"What's Carol making today?" Carl questioned as he removed his gloves and grabbed a bucket of crops they had gathered thus far.

"Omelets I believe." He replied. He grabbed the bucket and tried not to dwell on the feeling of their hands brushing like a complete sap.

"Hell yeah!" Carl celebrated, fist pumping.

" Hey now, be careful not to trample anything." Rick said, grinning at his antics. Patrick laughed.

There was a slight pause of silence, only filled with the sounds of the animals occasionally. Patrick shuffled his feet and cleared his throat.

"I better get back to Carol." He muttered, gesturing with the bucket and nearly spilling green bell peppers everywhere. Carl snorted.

"Yeah, I better get back to work. You wanna play some basketball later?"

"Yeah, okay." He smiled lightly and turned away, trying to be casual as he walked away. And failed, nearly tripping and falling headfirst.

He placed the bucket down beside her with a huff and Carol smiled.

"Thanks. Are you sure you're okay? You look flushed." She placed a hand on his forehead to see if he had a fever.

"Yep. I'm fine and dandy, cool as a cucumber." The tiny squeak in his voice did nothing to help matters.

"Why don't you go lay down for a while until breakfast is done?"

"But don't you need more help?" Carol sent him a dismissive wave.

"Nah, if I did I could always get Daryl to help me."

Patrick almost protested more, but the offer was rather tempting. Perhaps he could smother himself with his pillow to get rid of his embarrassment.

"I think I will actually." He walked towards the prison entrance, taking the last shred of dignity he possessed with him.

* * *

His roommate was nowhere to be found when he got to their room. He was particularly grateful for that fact as he climbed into his bunk shoes and all, and threw a hand over his face with a pained groan. Developing a crush on his best friend had not been expected, especially given the circumstances the world was currently in. Hell, surviving had not been expected.

He had been fairly aware of his sexuality before the world had gone to shit and his family had been supportive, but he hadn't really gotten much of a chance to "explore" his feelings with anybody or even peruse a relationship with a guy before everything got flipped on its head.

There had been a guy, Thomas, in his old group that he had fancied for a while, but Patrick was no Casanova. Occasional prolonged glances and a few flirty comments here and there were as far as it got. Then the group's makeshift door barrier broke under the strain of so many Walkers pressed against it; they had smelled all the people.

The camp became overrun with walkers in a matter of seconds, and he had watched Thomas and the rest of his friends die before his eyes. He barely made it out alive himself and back then part of him wished he hadn't. He had been bumbling around, all alone.

Until now. Fitting in with a large group of people he didn't know had been challenging at first, but he eventually got some semblance of confidence. The walkers still scared him and he wasn't much help physically, but he did get to assist with taking care of the younger children helping Carol in the kitchen of course.

He was conflicted. He had little to no experience with this type of thing, not to mention he didn't know Carl's sexuality. For the entirety he had spent at the prison he hadn't seen Carl so much as look at a boy or girl in a certain way. Perhaps he did it on purpose; they had more pressing matters to deal with than "love" and "relationships."

He couldn't help but laugh a bit at his situation. The "falling in love with your best friend" cliché. He already had the hopelessly pinning and moping in his room parts down, just add a cheesy love song and it was a movie plot.

Except it wasn't, it was real life. And unlike most romance movies he'd seen, he couldn't see a happy outcome. There was always the possibility that Carl only thought of him as a friend, and Patrick telling him about his feelings could put a rift in their friendship and it would be super awkward. Carl already knew about the fact that he was gay, he had confided in him quite a while ago, and Carl had been accepting of him. But would that change if he found out? This, case in point, was partially the reason he wanted to keep his feelings a secret. And yet, on the other hand…

Their days were numbered. Every moment could be one step closer to death. How long did they have? He really,  _really_  wanted to tell Carl, but he was scared at the possibility that he didn't feel the same. How could he face him again after he told the truth?

A knock on his cell 'door', if you could call it that, jarred him from his thoughts and he sat up in time to see Carl himself pull the curtain back.

"Hey." Carl greeted after a slight pause. "Can I come in?"

Patrick nodded, making room for him as he climbed onto his bunk.

"I uh, I'm supposed to let you know that breakfast is ready, but I also wanted to talk to you." Carl began, and made himself comfortable on the soft mattress. Patrick felt his heartbeat quicken. Had he been too obvious with his looks? Was he here to turn him down before things got too far? His thoughts raced, all pointing to the conclusion that he had feared. He cleared his throat and tried his best to look calm and innocent.

"Really? About what?" He questioned. Waited for the inevitable shoe to drop. Carl turned to face him, looking worried.

"Are you okay? You've been really distant and silent lately. Usually I can't get you to shut up." Carl said, laughing lightly in an attempt to lighten the mood. Patrick exhaled slowly, his emotions all over the place. He felt partial relief because his mind had overreacted. Yet sad, because of the possibility that he missed the opportunity to bring it up. Part of him wondered if he'd really be able to actually say it to him.

So he had noticed his drastic shift in mood over the past month or so. Carl cared which he knew well enough already since they were close friends, but still. It warmed his heart. He sent him a small smile.

"I'm fine. I've just been thinking about my family is all. I think I'm just in a funk or something." He shrugged. It wasn't a complete lie, he  _had_  been thinking of his family a lot. How it would be if they were alive and well at the prison. His younger sister would have totally loved Judith as a playmate. His aunt would no doubt be teasing him about his problem right now, trying to get him to confess.

"Are you feeling like you were, back then?" Carl asked quietly, and Patrick shook his head.

"No, I'm a lot better now."

The little funk he was in wasn't as bad as when he had first arrived at the prison.

* * *

_He had climbed into the attic of the building their group had been held up in. His friends were all gone, reduced to man eating senseless beings downstairs. He retracted the ladder and fell to his knees in the middle of the old dusty room and wept. Wept because he wasn't strong enough to save his friends. That he ran. He didn't want to go downstairs and see what they had become._

_Hours might have passed, days even. He didn't last long. Maybe it had been the shock finally getting to him, or the dehydration and exhaustion that made him pass out._

_He woke up, disoriented, in what appeared to be a makeshift hospital room. It was then he met Hershel, who had been looking after him, and Glenn. He proceeded to ask him three peculiar questions._

_How many walkers have you killed?_

Only a few, he was weak.

_How many people have you killed?_

None.

_Why?_

Maybe because part of him still grappled at scrap of hope that not all people were bad. Then again, he couldn't even handle a gun, he couldn't save his friends, and he didn't have the guts to take someone's life.

_By some miracle they had had mercy on him and let him join them. He was surprised to find out just how many of them there were. Beth, a great friend of his now, had shown him around the place, Introduced him to people, so many that he worried he wouldn't remember them all. They were all very nice and greeted him, but he remained silent, giving a polite nod here and there. He felt the gaping hole his friends had left in their wake aching._

_On the way to show him to his room Beth had bumped into Carl. They exchanged pleasantries for a moment before Carl seemed to notice Patrick. It must have clicked suddenly that he was the new guy, news seemed to travel fast. Beth introduced him and Carl stuck out a hand, giving him a friendly smile. Patrick stared down at it, and auto pilot took over and shook it. He let the hand drop to his side and bowed his head. Carl and Beth shared a look. Maybe people shutting down when they arrived was a normal thing._

_He stayed in his room for almost an entire week. His roommate was hardly ever there; maybe to give him space, or he was just super active during the day. He barely slept; he didn't want the nightmares. Not just his friends, but his parents, his sister. All taunting him. He didn't want to do anything, he didn't_ feel _anything._

_Carl brought him his meals every day, but he barely ate no matter how much Carl insisted him he should. He also attempted to strike up a conversation with him, but to no avail. Patrick appreciated his kindness, he really did, but he just...didn't want to talk. Eventually Carl gave up trying to get him to talk and simply talked to him instead. And Patrick listened. He told him about his life before and after the walkers happened. He told him about how he had lost friends, many friends, but also gained many more._

" _How do you live with it? The guilt?" Patrick had asked after his story about the small camp he and his mom had been in, surprising them both. His voice sounded grovel and hoarse from lack of use._

" _You can't it eat you up. You just have to keep going, living, for them." The words struck a chord in him. Thomas and the others wouldn't want him to be like this. He looked over at him, perplexed._

_Carl literally knew nothing about him yet there he was, bringing him his meals, telling him about his life, and being so kind to him. Perhaps he was right about not all people being bad. He sat up slowly, rubbing away the tears that had gathered in his eyes._

" _Thank you." It had taken a while, but he eventually started to feel better. The numbness slowly subsided._

* * *

Carl didn't look all that convinced. "Are you sure? I feel like something else is bothering you. You know you can tell me anything, right?" He pressed on. Patrick's breath caught in his throat. He looked at him, the boy that had reached out to him, befriended him, and even defended him. It felt like he owed it to him to tell the truth, no matter what happened. Maybe he did have the guts to say it after all.

"I.." He opened and closed his moth helplessly, his throat dry. Carl placed a hand on his knee.

"I don't mean to force you t-"

"I have feelings for you." The words tumbled from his mouth and he sucked in a breath. Fear coiled through his stomach as he watched for any reaction from Carl. Silence. He blinked.

"Oh." He finally said eyes wide. Patrick wrung his hands together, trying to blink back the moisture. His heart felt heavy in his chest and he looked away.

"Oh." He replied back softly. The hand on his knee disappeared and he missed its warmth.

"That-that came out wrong." Carl insisted, and instead placed his hand on Patrick's cheek, getting him to turn his head and look at him.

"I do, too. For you, um I'm not really good at this." He admitted. Now it was Patrick's turn to be shocked.

"What?" Carl smiled at his bewildered look.

"I. Have. Feelings. For. You. Too." He elaborated, enunciating each world carefully. "I wanted to tell you, but I didn't know how. I haven't really ever felt like this about someone before." He scratched the back of his neck sheepishly. Patrick let out a laugh of disbelief. He felt like a huge weight had just left his shoulders. His heart swelled, a feeling akin to euphoria expanding through his body. He reached up and grabbed Carl's hand in his own and intertwined their fingers.

"Don't worry. I'm not good at this, either." He mumbled. It was then they both seemed to notice how close together they were. Had they always been sitting this close, and had they somehow shifted that way while they were talking?

Carl leaned forward, close enough that their breaths mingled. His eyes darted from his eyes to his lips.

"Are you sure, is this too far?" Patrick whispered. Carl nodded and wetted his dry lips.

"I'm sure." He wasted no time in closing the small distance between them and pressed their lips together. It was an awkward angle- their noses bumped together and they were still holding hands, trapped between them. Carl's other hand lifted to cup his cheek and he surprised Patrick by deepening the kiss, and some part of his brain that wasn't currently blank wondered where he had learned that.

He pulled away to breathe and stared at him in wonder. Not just a ten minutes ago or so he had thought this wasn't a possibility. He laughed suddenly upon seeing a splotch of dirt on his forehead.

"What's so funny? Is it that I'm a bad kisser? How does somebody even know they're a good kisser?" Carl grumbled. Patrick shook his head and covered his mouth in attempt to stifle his giggles.

"No no, it's not that. The kiss was amazing. You just have some dirt on your forehead."

"Oh." He raised a hand to brush it off his face. Patrick shook his head and wiped away what he had missed. His hand lingered, their eyes met and they shared a smile.

"So are we dating now?" Carl inquired and looked down at their hands. "I mean, if you want to be."

"Yes. I would love that very much." Patrick replied softly. He sat for a moment, completely giddy until he noticed Carl shuffling off his bed.

"Where are you going?"

"Well I don't know about you, but I am  _starving_." He answered, gesturing behind him with his hand. Then it dawned on him and he noticed just how hungry he was.

"Right, duh, I am too." He hoped down off the bed.

"Do you want people to know? I mean or do you want to keep it a secret for a while or something. Even though he doubted anyone would be outright homophobic as there was a nice lesbian couple in the group and no one seemed to raise any hell about it. He thought it'd be pretty stupid to still have issues over who someone went to bed with at night when there were walkers roaming the streets, but he still wanted to ask.

He realized then that he never thought about Rick. How would he feel about it?

Carl broke through his internal freak out by grabbing his hand again.

"No, I want people to know. I don't care what anyone thinks." Patrick smiled at that.

"Thank you." He breathed out.

Cark arched a brow. "What for?"

"For everything, I guess. Taking me in, caring of me." He squeezed his hand. "Loving me."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Weeelp I know nothing of love sorry, I haven't really experienced it or anything.
> 
> Ahh anyways I'm glad I got this up today, I'm gonna go pass out now.
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	11. The Distance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do not own The Walking Dead.
> 
> So I haven't uploaded in a really long time and I am so sosososo sorry. I don't even have an excuse or anything (not that I would try to excuse my horrendous upload patterns but you know what I mean) I was just really lazy and had a complete lack of muse. Writing block sucks.
> 
> But the Walking Dead is back, and holy shit is it intense. (I am going to die of a heart attack from watching it one of these days smh) Hopefully that will help my creative juices start flowing again.
> 
> Also thank you all who reviewed the last chapter and everything, I wasn't sure how good it sounded because I've never been in love, but I really wanted to right infatuated Patrick and all that jazz, it was fun. I had even had more details about Patrick's past in the original outline but I scrapped a lot of it because wow was it horrible and cheesy. Anyways, back on track!
> 
> Enjoy!

"I'm really hopping he's telling the truth." Patrick whispered, settling down in their corner of the room. Tensions had died down since the group had found each other. Aaron and Rick had both agreed that they should wait until morning before they attempted to drive anymore. Everyone had started to relax, finally.

He wanted to believe that everything Eric and Aaron had said were true, and they were all going to be safe, but he couldn't help but feel some skepticism like Rick. After the Governor, and Terminus along with everything else it was hard for them to trust anyone anymore.

The sudden presence of his boyfriend jarred him from his thoughts.

Carl had just finished helping Maggie pass out some blankets and jackets that the other's had found in Noah's home town. It was a stinging reminder of what they had just lost not long ago, but they needed it.

"I think he is. He has to be." Carl replied. He made himself comfortable and bunched up his backpack like someone would fluff a pillow, draping the blanket over him. He lifted up a corner and Patrick set his glasses aside, gratefully scooting his way underneath it. He flipped the blanket over his lover and patted it down, making sure they were both covered up. Patrick took the opportunity to slide his arm over Carl's side, pressing his face into his neck.

With all the constant running around and guarding in shifts, it had felt like ages since they had last cuddled up like this and shared warmth. Though they had gotten to sleep for a while in the barn, staying warm next to the fire with Judith curled up between them. Carl let out a laugh when he felt Patrick's hair tickle his neck.

"You need a haircut." He stated, trying to hide his smile as he propped himself up on one elbow. Patrick scoffed.

"Speak for yourself, Rapunzel." To emphasize his point he grabbed the sheriff's hat of his head and placed it next to his glasses, running a hand through Carl's locks. He evaded Carl's attempts to swat his hand away and gently grabbed it instead, linking it with his own.

"God, I don't know about you but even the hard ground and hay felt better than this, horse shit or not." Carl snorted.

"Well, come tomorrow we could be sharing a bed again."

"And if not?" Patrick mumbled, staring down at their hands with a troubled expression. Carl sobered and laid down with a sigh, taking his second hand and placing it on top of Patrick's.

"Then we keep moving. We can always go back to our Washington plan."

"For how long? I'm tired of running." After losing the prison, then Washington, and then Beth and Tyreese- it was beginning to feel like there was no end to the cycle. Like they were climbing an uphill battle with a ball and chain around their feet. How long could they continue like this, who would die next? What if this Alexandria was just another Woodbury?

Carl cupped Patrick's cheek, still firmly grasping Patrick's hand with his other.

"We're all tired of it, believe me. But I won't stop fighting, not until we're safe. You heard what dad said; we're survivors, we can make it." Carl squeezed his hand. "I love you, more than anything.

"I love you, too." He tried his best to move in as close as possible, until Pat laughed and met him halfway. Satisfied Carl pulled away, whispering a goodnight to him. He flopped over onto his other side, facing the wall. Patrick swallowed, suddenly realizing how dry his throat had become.

"M' thirsty." He said, and tossed the blanket off of himself. Carl groaned at the loss of his personal heater and sprawled out.

"Hurry back."

"Will do." He slipped his glasses back on and strolled over to where the adults were convening around a map.

"May I have some water? He asked, nodding a thank you to Kara when she handed over a flask with a smile. Maggie glanced around for something.

"I should probably go check on Eric and see if he needs another pain killer." Patrick swallowed his mouthful of water and put the cap back on the flask, wiping a few drips on his chin with his sleeve.

"No no, don't get up. I can do it." He offered with a shrug.

"I don't know, Pat." Rick began, skeptical. He lightly swayed back and forth, trying to get his finicky daughter to fall asleep. Patrick sent him and exasperated look.

"What are they gonna do to me? Bludgeon me with a license plate?" Daryl snorted. At least someone appreciated his humor. Rick seemed to give in, and Maggie handed over the bottle of pills and a bottle of water from Aaron's bag.

Sure, he wasn't the strongest of the group, not by a long shot. He could barely hold a gun straight without shaking, but Aaron and Eric really didn't seem like violent people. The rest of their group however, that could be a different story.

He approached the other room where Eric was resting in his makeshift bed, and he couldn't help but come to a stop in the doorway. Aaron had shrugged of his jacket and lay next to Eric, the candles flickering around them. They stared, completely enamored with each other. As if the world outside of their space simply did not exist. Patrick suddenly felt as if he had walked in on something private, only meant to be seen by the two of them. They gazed at each other with intensity, an unabashed open love that Patrick had yearned for before the outbreak had happened.

Something he had himself, now. He smiled and knocked on the doorframe lightly.

"Sorry to uh, interrupt. But I brought some more meds, if you need them." He said, gesturing with the bottle.

"Oh, no. It's okay. Thanks." Aaron replied, smiling as he took the bottles from him. Patrick winced a bit at the look of his wrists.

"Also sorry about the whole tying you up thing." He said, leaning against a column opposite of them.

"Don't be. They'll heal. I would have probably done the same in your situation."

"And we're sorry for following you guys and listening in on your conversations." Eric offered.

"Honestly, we probably would have done the same. Only not as James Bond style as you guys managed." He said with a shrug. The three of them shared a laugh. Patrick slid down the support and sat on the cool ground, hugging his legs to his chest. He had been tossing around a thought, ever since they had told them about Alexandria.

"Can I ask you guys something." He began, albeit sheepish.

"Mhm." Hw fiddled with a hole in his pant leg.

"We'll we be accepted? At Alexandria?" Aaron blinked, perplexed.

"Yeah, of course. Everyone will totally love you guys, and I believe you'll become valuable members to the community."

"That's not exactly- what I meant was. Are the two of you accepted?" He reiterated, feeling awkward.

"Ooh."

"Well, yes. Everyone seems very accepting of us. Generally we have bigger things to worry about like our people, and gathering food." Eric said. He smiled at him. "You and Carl will be safe."

"Really?" Despite everything he still couldn't help but feel hopeful. That maybe they had finally reached the top of the hill, and everything would be okay.

"Yes, really."

"Okay."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There was a lot of gay in this chapter and I could not be more pleased. Also I have no idea what happens in the comics, as I have never read them. So I could be completely wrong about everything, but at least it's fanfic, right?
> 
> Also sorry this chapter is a little short.
> 
> I am beyond thrilled with that last episode- and not just because of Aaron and Eric (though that's a big factor) it was intense man. And I am so happy to see some homosexual representation on a really popular television show. (And I haven't forgotten about you Tara! Now I can only silently hope she hooks up with Rosita even though I know it won't happen.) And while I do watch Glee and love Kurt and Blaine to death I've always thought TWD has had a bigger audience spread across several age groups and what not.
> 
> This suddenly turned into a deep discussion, what happened. Anyways, thanks for reading!


End file.
